A Winter Story Madeleine A 24

A Winter Story Madeleine A. ’24

Light streamed across the little girl’s face as she awoke in her bed, rays of sunlight arousing her consciousness.

It had snowed heavily last night, and the little girl smiled as she envisioned what it would look like.

She hopped off of the rickety, rusted bed and peered out the cracked window. The child laughed in delight, a happy glow lighting up her face. “Momma!”

Her mother woke as soon as she heard the little girl, getting off of the bed and stumbling over to her child. “What is it?”

The little girl pointed out the window. “Momma, it snowed!”

The old woman’s weary face formed a frown as she peered hesitantly outside. “That shouldn’t be an excuse to wake me up,” she huffed irritatedly. “You know how hard I work to pay for this house.”

The old woman gestured to the area around them, a tiny flat with no heating except for the little stove in the corner. There was only one bed for the three of them, the little girl’s father still asleep. The flat contained one room, and a bathroom so small it could barely fit the sink. But they were happy there, at least, that’s what the little girl thought.

The little girl nodded in response to her mother, her smile slowly fading into nothing. She then was dragged by her mother over to their tiny kitchen, which resided around the stove. Her mother took out the grain, and they began to make little sugarless cakes for them to eat all day.

“Momma,” the little girl said while shaping a cake, “May I go out to see my friends?”

“Not until you’re done,” the old woman growled. “And don’t forget your coat.”

But the little girl was out the door before she could yell at her.

It was cold outside, and the little girl walked past bunches of kids making snowmen and snow angels. She passed by a snowball fight, and a snowball instantly whizzed past her, then another hit her cheek. She stopped walking and raised a hand to her face, wiping off the snow as the children laughed. Unable to bear their laughter any longer, she began walking again, this time at a faster pace.

These people weren’t her friends. Her father and mother had told her countless times not to hang out with them, and she obeyed. They would only pick on her anyway.

The little girl turned a corner, and reached her destination: An old graveyard, massive and mysterious.

The graveyard was the highlight of the town. It took up most of the town’s surroundings, the town itself being very small.

The little girl opened the old, rusted gates, humming a tune to herself as she skipped down the snow-covered path.

“I’m here!” the little girl called out, waiting for a response. The graveyard stood vacant, whispering along with the snow.

Then a figure appeared. It was a small boy, with unruly golden hair and a black hat, and skin so pale it looked like death. He was a ghost, one that had died a century ago.

But the little girl wasn’t afraid. When she saw his face, she smiled. “Where are the others?”

“Oh, they’re coming,” the little boy replied as several other figures emerged from the snow.

“Sorry,” a blond girl whose hair was styled in ringlets said. “It’s hard to get out of a frozen corpse.”

The little girl laughed. “It’s fine. I’m just glad everyone’s here.”

“We wish you could be here more often, though,” the little boy grumbled, and the blonde girl kicked him.

The little girl smiled. “So, what games do you want to play?”

After hours of playing in the snow with her friends, the little girl began to realize that she was frozen nearly to the bone. “I’ve got to go home,” she said, teeth chattering.

Her parents were not pleased when she came home. Her father, angry that she was out for so long, smacked her across the face. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, staying out in the cold like that?”

Her mother was not much different. “How dare you soak your clothes! I can’t dry them; they’ll freeze on the clothesline!”

The little girl spoke very little and silently received her punishments, letting as little as a tear slowly fall down her cheek.

“You are no longer allowed to see your friends,” Her mother and father ordered her.

That night, the little girl lay in the family’s only bed and listened to her parents argue.

“You know we won’t be able to continue feeding all three of us anymore on this money!” her father yelled.

“Then you get a job!” Her mother yelled back.

The father gestured to his leg, broken and swollen. “You know I can’t work with a leg like this!”

The little girl pushed out all their arguing and forced herself to sleep, perhaps, she hoped, for a very long time.

Alas, the little girl woke up the next morning. Her parents were warming their hands in front of the little stove, and they both turned to look at the little girl as she hopped out of the rickety bed.

“You’re not going to be helping me today,” her mother told her, a grin on her face–something something the little girl hadn’t seen for a while.

“Really?!” The little girl cried, face full of excitement. She would get to play with her friends all day then, and she wouldn’t be scolded for it either--

“You’re not playing with your friends either,” her father said, a grin of his own on his face.

The little girl’s smile quickly turned into a frown. What were they going to make her do?

The little girl’s mother took a wrinkled dollar bill out of her pocket and showed it to the girl. “You see this? We need you to collect 20 of these from the people in the town every day.”

The little girl took the dollar and examined it as her father spoke. “Once you collect 20 of those, you will be let in the house and will be able to eat supper for the rest of the day, got it?”

The little girl bounced excitedly, up to the challenge. How hard could it be? She thought to herself.

Before she could agree, the little girl was already sitting on the side of the street, a little tin cup in her hand. Once she saw someone, she ran up to them, holding out the cup.

Occasionally, they would take a look at the girl and realize she existed. Maybe she was lucky enough to receive a dollar or two.

When she neared 20 dollars, her toes were frozen, and her eyelids dusted with frost. But she kept going, determined to be let in her house once again.

She passed by a figure all in black, with a tattered hood and cape. He carried with him a long object with a curved blade at the end that looked like a crescent cut in half symmetrically. It glinted in the moonlight, but the little girl hardly paid attention to it as she held out her tin cup, trying to catch a glimpse of the man underneath the hood. The figure then reached inside his

cloak and pulled out a crumpled dollar, fingers as fair and as pale as the moon. The little girl accepted the dollar from the figure, and he ruffled her hair. The little girl could almost see the stranger, smiling sadly as they stood together in the muted dusk. The little girl bounced and thanked the figure, skipping her half-frozen body back to her little house. Somehow, the little girl knew she’d see the figure again—sometime sooner than she could comprehend.

When the little girl opened the rusted door to her house, her parents rushed over to her, overjoyed. But they weren’t happy she’d returned. Instead, they snatched her little cup and took it over to their tiny kitchen, counting out the crumpled bills.

After a minute or so, they turned back around, gleeful smiles on their faces. The old mother stalked over to the little girl, who was trying to warm her frozen fingers in the little heat the stove gave off.

The old woman addressed her. “You’ll be doing the same thing from now on every day.”

“But then I won’t be able to see my friends!” The little girl whined, and her mother smacked her across the face, like her father had done earlier. It left a bruise, but the little girl didn’t feel the pain. She was too cold to even register the blow.

“You know what we said about your friends,” the old woman ordered. “You are no longer able to hang out with them.”

The little girl looked up at her mother in wonder. She’d never been this stern before. What caused her to have such a drastic change in heart?

She continued to think about it in the family’s tiny bed as her parents began another one of their fights, which had recently started happening daily. However, nothing came to her mind, except for one: I must have been bad, she thought tearfully. They must be punishing me.

But once morning had made it around, the little girl’s tears were gone and her smile had been reapplied to her face.

The little girl dutifully took her tin cup and headed out the home’s door without any complaints, only to meet the eagerly smiling faces of her friends from the graveyard.

“Hi!” They exclaimed once they saw her.

The little girl put a chubby little finger up to her chapped lips. “Shh! You’re not supposed to be here; my parents will notice you!”

“Your parents can’t see us,” the blonde with ringlets pointed out. “Only you can.”

“Yeah,” a redheaded girl agreed.

The little girl smiled, confused. “I thought you guys couldn’t come out of the graveyard.”

“We can if you’re not in the graveyard,” the boy with the hat said.

“That’s cool,” the little girl said sadly. “But I can’t play today.”

She explained her situation to the little ghost children, yet they continued smiling.

“No worries!” the blonde with ringlets assured her. “We’ll sit and help collect money too! It’s boring back in the graveyard anyways.”

So they sat with the little girl, cracking jokes and making the little girl smile.

Before she knew it, she had collected twenty dollars once again. And one of her eyes had frozen shut.

But the little girl didn’t notice. She continued to laugh with her friends until the sun had set for a long time. Only then, however, did she begin to worry.

She hurried home as fast as she could, using her one good eye to scout out her house.

When she cracked open the door, her parents were waiting. They snatched the money from her once again and smacked her across the face twice, once for each parent. They refused to speak to her, but the little girl was secretly relieved. If they had chosen to speak to her, she was sure an eardrum would break.

On the third day, she headed out once again, her frozen eye refusing to thaw. But her friends weren’t there. They’ll come eventually, the little girl assured herself.

But they didn’t. Not when she had collected five dollars. Not even when she’d collected twenty.

She headed home, full of dismay as her parents took the money and counted it. But then her parents counted the money a second time. And then a third. When they finally turned around, their faces were contorted in fury.

“You only collected 19,” her father growled, smacking her bruised, swollen, and frostbitten face.

They shoved her out of the house and before she knew it, she was begging for money again.

Then her friends showed up. Out of her one good eye she could see the children, holding something that looked like green paper—wait—could it be—

“We’ve got a dollar!” The boy with the hat cried, waving the bill at her. “Come over and get it!”

The little girl stumbled to her feet and ran as fast as the frozen things would let her.

She chased them into the graveyard, where she finally caught up to them. The boy holding the dollar called out to her. “Here! Take it!” he shouted.

“Give it to me,” she cried out, but her voice was nothing more than a frozen whisper.

She stumbled over to the little boy, but then fell into a hole, freshly dug. An open grave, she realized with horror. “Let me out!” the little girl cried, frozen tears streaming down her swollen and frostbitten face. But they didn’t.

They all stood in a circle around the grave, smiling at her. The smiles were kind, but the little girl could no longer see. Her one good eye had frozen shut.

“Don’t you understand?” the blonde with ringlets said, the little girl only able to identify her voice. “We’re setting you free!”

“Yes!” a boy cried out. The one with the hat. “Now you can play with us forever!”

Her face tried to smile but froze completely. Darkness dusted over the little girl’s cheeks as she took her last breath. Then she saw the hooded figure with his long, curved blade. A scythe. The little girl’s brain froze, then her heart, but she wasn’t afraid.

Now she was home.

Emma C. ’22